


Bruises

by anarchyarmin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:36:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchyarmin/pseuds/anarchyarmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six weeks after beginning their training, Eren helps Armin cope with the stress of the first day of aerial maneuvers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

The boys sauntered into their barrack, lead-limbed, tired. Groans and sighs filled the air, punctuated by cracking joints and muffled curses.

Eren slid the leather straps off his body and stretched. Everything burned. Everything felt heavy. A few trainees had simply flopped onto their bunks still in uniform. Marco, massaging Jean’s shoulders, was clearly unaware of how hard Jean was gritting his teeth.

An hour before the dinner bell.

Armin sat motionless on Eren’s bunk, hunched over, eyes to the ground. When Eren looked again, he saw Armin’s hands tremble as he reached to undo the strap across his chest.

“Armin,” Eren half-whispered. “…do you want me to help you?”

“Sure,” Armin sighed.

As deftly as he could, without betraying how weak and raw his own hands felt, he moved through the sequence of clasps. Eren grabbed Armin’s hand to help him stand up, and Armin tentatively stepped out of his harness.

As Armin peeled off his shirt, Eren could still see the faint outlines of his ribs, and a feeling of grief swept through him. As children, clinging to each other to keep warm, Eren had let his fingers slide into those spaces, indentations that were supposed to be gone by now. Week after week at the ominous racks of iron weights, in preparation for this day—the first real aerial 3D maneuvering exercises, had spurred a range of transformations in the trainees. Some of the boys had expanded, stressing the seams of their uniforms. Others, like the girls, had contracted, becoming dense, heavy, and lean. But Armin still looked so thin.

They joined the trail of towel-clad boys lumbering to the baths. Warm water brought some relief from the constant ache. Everyone moved slowly, but Armin moved as if he were underwater. From the corner of his eye, Eren noticed the lattice of bruises emerging on his friend’s pale skin. All of the trainees’ bodies were hatched with them, and Eren could feel the dark, tender bands appearing on his own skin. Why did it hurt so much to see them on Armin?

The dinner bell rang. This time there was no running. Only shuffling. When he was sure the others were ahead of them, Eren reached for Armin’s hand. Armin smiled faintly.

“The other boys don’t really do this, do they?” Armin mused without looking up.

“I don’t care what the other boys do.” Eren squeezed Armin’s hand tighter.

“I miss holding your hand, you know.” Armin whispered.

A rush of warmth flashed across Eren’s face.

“I miss it, too.”

_Hold hands_ , Armin’s mother always said, _so you don’t get separated. Don’t get lost._ And then the little daisy chain of them would make its way through the sprawling market. Armin’s mother, petite but determined, led them, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed through the stalls. The way to see the world then, Eren understood, was undoubtedly by holding the hand of your best friend. _You won’t get separated, and you won’t get lost_.

The last boys ahead of them disappeared into the mess hall. When the door clicked shut, Eren stopped, pulled Armin to him, and wrapped his arms around him. Armin winced, but tried to relax into the hug. _It’ll be ok if you don’t get separated._ Their one long shadow traversed the empty courtyard.

Only a few murmuring voices drifted through the mess hall. The slumped figures of boys and girls quietly picked at the heaps of potatoes and mushy spinach in front of them. Even Mikasa leaned heavily on her elbows.

“Don’t worry, Armin,” she offered. “Everyone says the first day of aerial training is the hardest. It will get easier, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re right,” Armin muttered, in a wholly unconvincing monotone.

Eren and Mikasa exchanged worried glances. They ate the rest of their food in silence. No card decks were shuffled, no guitar strings plucked, no bursts of gossip turned heads in the hall. After the meal, every trainee retreated to sleep.

As was their custom, Mikasa hugged each of them good night and gave them a kiss on the cheek. She looked at Eren over Armin’s shoulder and gave him a pained, imploring look.

_Please take care of him._

Eren nodded. _Of course. Always._

Eren draped his arm across Armin’s shoulders and walked him back to the barrack.

The night bell rang. The last lantern went out. Fatigue bound Eren’s body to his mattress like a thousand tight cords, but sleep would not come.

In the first few days of training, the sheer strangeness of it all kept Eren up at night. Visions, nightmares, and memories crept into the edges of his consciousness and left him tense and shivering. He would climb the first rung of the ladder to Armin’s bunk and gently brush him on the shoulder: their signal— _can I join you_? A little knot of fear always built up in Eren’s stomach. He was afraid of what would happen if the other boys saw. (Was anyone _else_ climbing up to join their friends in the night?) He was afraid of what would happen if he hugged Armin too closely, if Armin felt the heat that spread through his body whenever they lay down together…

The little knot of fear was always there, and miraculously, the relief of holding Armin’s hand always dissolved it.

In the past weeks, fatigue had cut out all the bedtime chatter, kept the chessboard and dice locked in the cupboard, the books and stationery sealed in the trunks. Sleep came instantly, like drawing a black velvet curtain. But for Eren, not tonight.

Eren brushed Armin’s shoulder. One tired blue eye opened.

“Come up,” Armin whispered.

Eren slid under the blankets, and without fully knowing why, pulled Armin on top of him. Armin went tense.

“Eren—what are you—”

“I’m sorry,” Eren whispered. He pulled Armin to his chest. Armin was still light, but heavier than he remembered—or expected. And Eren felt a wave of relief.

“Eren, that hurts,” Armin said. “I have too many bruises there—”

“I’m sorry!” Eren repeated, and immediately loosened his arms. But Armin didn’t move. He kept lying on Eren’s chest. Where is he not bruised, Eren wondered. He lightly stroked the small of Armin’s back and ran his fingers through his hair. Faintly, gradually, he could feel Armin’s breath becoming steady, slower, and even.

“I miss lying down with you,” Eren whispered.

“I miss it, too.” Eren felt the heat of a teardrop on his chest. He leaned forward and kissed Armin’s forehead.

Dark, heavy sleep embraced them, and there were no visions or dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my little ficlet! This was my first foray into fanfiction, so any comments are appreciated. I post various snk-related things at anarchyarmin.tumblr.com


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